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Douchemail the Second

These are cracking me up. Eventually, I’ll get tired of posting them, but not yet.

And you know, if I can get serious for a minute, here’s why I turn this shit into posts sometimes. An old friend of mine, who’s never seemed quite on board with the it’s-okay-to-be-fat stuff but tolerates it because she’s known me for 20-odd years, e-mailed me today and said, “Kate, I read some of the online comments on CNN. I see now why the world needs you to speak out. Please keep it up.” Of course, I do not recommend that anyone read comments at CNN, YouTube, Broadsheet, etc., for just that reason — but seeing the level of “discourse” around anything fat-related can be a real eye-opener for those who don’t get just how nasty and sophomoric the weight bigots routinely are. (Or that they never know the difference between “your” and “you’re.”)

With that, Douchemail the Second:

Subject: You’re very uplifting CNN appearance!

Sucked balls. Now I know how you really look and sound like. Ugh! Very unattractive.

yours truly,

Heart disease (I’m just around the corner and I’m going to get you fatty!)

So, I guess you’re going to cry and shut up and stay in the house making babies and pies like a proper woman now that you’ve been castigated, right?

Funniest to me: this is not someone who happened to see you on CNN and Googled you up, this is a regular reader who’s been dying to know what you look like. It’s nice to have that kind of devotion, huh?

Funniest to me: this is not someone who happened to see you on CNN and Googled you up, this is a regular reader who’s been dying to know what you look like.

Yeah, except I almost said, “Yes, I can tell you’ve been an avid reader of my blog, who just happens to have missed the umpteen pictures of me and links to audio interviews scattered throughout the site.”

There haven’t been photos recently, I don’t think… they’re probably a new reader. Since they didn’t mention the blog on CNN, I’m extremely suspicious of anyone who saw the piece and immediately came right here to accuse you of forcing yourself on their consciousness.

Oh, also, I would also be happy to come over and show you how to work your TV remote so that you can change the channel when you see things that frighten or bother you. I know, I know, it’s generous of me… but I truly believe we grownups really need to take a role in helping young people process visual media in helpful ways.

Is it wrong that I’m completely tickled by his (I assume it’s a he, based on his/her fixation on your “attractiveness”) signing it “heart disease”?? Because I totally am.

Suddenly I’m imagining a whole array of incipient-disease greeting cards – a postcard from the cold I’m going to get in August, a Happy Halloween card from the flu I’ll get just before Thanksgiving?

Would the level of the greeting have any sort of relationship to the level of physical infirmity the disease/illness has? Like, if you’re about to contract genital warts, would you get a Teleflora “Sorry I’m About To Infect You arrangement?

Thanks so much to you and your family for hosting me for a week. I really loved the chance to get close to you and your two sons. Although our visit was cut short by antibiotics, I spend a lot of time in your older child’s preschool classroom, so I’m sure we’ll get a chance to visit again soon.

I’m always amused by the cluelessness of people who think that telling me I’m unattractive makes them anything but nasty, unattractive people to me, so it has really no impact. I would want you to find me attractive… why, exactly?

Thanks so much for bringing me along on your flight to the US. I’m so glad I got to meet so many new people on that trans-atlantic coach flight.

Love, Pneumonia Europaea”

“Dear Bald Soprano,

Thank you so much for taking me home to meet all 28 relatives for Thanksgiving and giving up fully half your three week vacation to my entertainment, when we had only just met on the plane! Such hospitality is truly stupendous.

When I first met you, I planned on a quick stay — a little fun, and then I’d never see you again. But I had such a great time, I couldn’t tear myself away… Thanks for putting me up for weeks. I left you a little reminder of me that I like to call ‘ruining your digestive tracts for the rest of your life.’ I hope it makes you smile and think of me.

Screw flowers! I want the bronchitis that visits me about every 6 weeks to bring Godiva. (‘Cause I need to keep stuffing my face to keep me fat and ready for Heart Disease when it comes to visit, of course.) Or cash. Really, I’d prefer cash.

You’d think that with the “obesity epidemic” and all, heart disease would be too busy running after the fatties to have time to read Kate’s blog and tune in to CNN. It’s nice to know that even heart disease has some leisure time.

So if Heart Disease finds her so very unattractive, why is s/he coming to get her, exactly? I mean, I don’t know about anyone else, but I generally don’t settle in for a nice life-long, life-changing relationship with someone I find very unattractive. I think HD may have some issues around healthy relationships and codependency. I recommend counselling.

You know, now that I re-parse this email, I don’t think it’s addressed to Kate at all. Clearly the subject line is addressed to CNN appearance, and the rest of the email is addressed to sucked balls. Which, I must agree, are often not very attractive.

Thank you for your kind invitation. I feel that I should make clear up front that this could not be a romantic visit; I’m simply not attracted to you in that way. I think it’s your haircut.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s address logistics: I do greatly appreciate your offer, but I am stymied by the fact that you are testicles and therefore do not have a cardiovascular system. Please advise.

Wait…if you’re [sic and lol] CNN appearance was so unattractive to heart disease, why is it waiting to get you? Shouldn’t it be trying to stay away?

TROLL FAIL.

Also…

“Dear Liza,

Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of taking you completely out of commission for two weeks. I hope you enjoy the parting gift of lingering exhaustion and the mounds of missed schoolwork to catch up on. I hope that the constant fluctuation between shivering and sweating didn’t make your laundry too taxing.

XXXOOO,
That Bitch-Ass Cold/Flu You Caught From Your Mom Who Got It From Your Brother”

“You’d think that with the “obesity epidemic” and all, heart disease would be too busy running after the fatties to have time to read Kate’s blog”

Well, what with us fatties supposedly being so easy to catch and all. . . It’s probably all the fitness nazi’s the bugger has to catch up too that’s really got heart disease running,

That, and trying to figure a way around all the editors and producers at ‘Biggest Loser’ in such a way as to get at one of the poor, deluded, pushed-to-their-limits contestants, without having the whole meeting end up on the cutting room floor.

Who said heart disease could speak for the rest of us or that its the vanguard of our battle against fatties.

Speaking as the regional representative of DAF (Diabetes Against Fatties) I wish to point out there are numerous other diseases out there that are just as motivated to be spurred on by the appearance of our zoftig prey such as SAF (snoring against fatties), BAAF (broken arms against fatties), and GWAF (global warming against fatties).

By ignoring its other colleagues HDAF (heart disease against fatties) is just proving the ways in which our movement has split into different factions which undermines our attempts to prevent fatties from sucking balls and appearing on 24 hour news channels. Its guerrilla tactics of hiding around corners waiting to scare the fat off of people is also another example of how militarism within the ranks only makes our movement less appealing to the general population.

I hope that from this day forward we can all unite in our efforts to raise our fists in solidarity with needs of our grammatically challenged benefactors and finally put an end to fat people who dare to appear anywhere outside of their bed, speaking to anyone except their pomeranian named Biscuit, wearing anything except a mumu and a respirator on any channel except TLC for a program entitled ‘yer so fat yer gonna die’. Autonomous fat people must be stopped!

I have thoroughly enjoyed my stay with you for the last few weeks. I know that we agreed that I would leave after your first trimester was over, but I’m enjoying myself so much that I may stick around for the whole thing!

This thread has made my week. I’d find the whole troll issue a lot funnier though if they didn’t believe the shit they were spouting. I just don’t get it. How is the colour of my eyes and hair genetic, the shape of my fingernails and the length of my fingers genetic and the size of my feet and my food allergies and my bad teeth and everything else, and yet the size and shape of my body is nothing to do with my genes.

If diseases like the flu owe us floral arrangements, does that mean that chronic illnesses should have to pay even more? (OMG, does that mean that chronic illnesses are FAT???) Because if so, I’m thinking that multiple sclerosis owes me a new car. Or house. Or hell, giant castle.

Y’all, I can’t decide which Note From An Illness I like best, they’re all awesome!

AnnieF – Yeah, I think chronic diseases should owe us recurring greetings. Y’know, the Harry and David Fruit of the Month Club, or in happier financial climes maybe some stock that paid out dividends every so often….. :)

I am certain that Heart Disease meant to tell the CNN appearance that it’s very uplifting, because HD got “yours truly” correct, and so must know the difference.

That said, I must point out that Heart Disease is not actually threatening sucked balls. It’s announcing that, before it shows up, it’s going to stop off and pick up a present for sucked balls. It’s going to get sucked balls fatty! How nice is that? Fatty is just the kind of thoughtful, caring present you’d expect from Heart Disease. It’s the little things like that that makes the relationship between sucked balls and Heart Disease so special.

Hee, Kaz, for a second there I was thinking of chocolate-dipped baskets. Which would be one way to make me eat more fiber, I suppose.

My point in bringing up my weight is just to reiterate how this policy affects way more people than the headless fatty intro would have us believe. I am that mythical “average” American woman: I wear size 14, I have had two children and my hips are migrating in an equatorial direction. *I* am very, very close to being unable to fit my spreading ass in the seat, so the chances that this policy could affect me? Pretty darn good, if it were actually about how we fit in the seats. But of course it’s not really about that; as has been said much more elegantly that I can say, there’s a disconnect between the perception of who would be affected by this policy (evidenced by the CNN intro) and who would actually be affected (lots and lots of us, despite the perception of random strangers on how fat we are).

Yes, Bald Soprano and liz, the song “I Got It from Agnes” is about what used to be known as VD. I still find it amusingly shocking, when I consider the many and varied people and vectors described therein. I love Tom Lehrer. No one can do cute+gleefully racy like him. I still giggle whenever he gets to “neckties, samplers, stained-glass windows” in the song SMUT.

We’ve spent a lifetime together and this is how you repay me? I can’t believe after all these years, you’ve chosen to give up dairy–and me! Don’t you remember that first trip to the hospital at age 3? What about the good times–like the time you passed out in karate during a rank test? Please, please, beloved. I know I will still see you from time to time…especially in the spring, but that is not enough! I miss our life together! So I beg you, drink a glass of milk…and let me in!

Yours forever,
Allergen Induced Asthma

Dear Miz H,

Hey, cupcake. Just wanted to let you know how great these past ten years have been. I’m ordering you six pounds of caramel chocolates to celebrate!

Richelle, omg, yes! If I were sucked balls, I’d totally want me some fatty! Heart disease is so considerate. Maybe it’s a make-up gift for calling sucked balls unattractive? That’s nice. Every relationship has problems, but it’s how you *handle* the problems that’s the important thing.

A Sarah, who knows? Maybe the “unattractive” thing is one of those relationship in-jokes. How are we to know what goes on between a major body system malady and some recently-orally-manipulated external reproductive organs, really?

Just… look, could you please just wear an uplifting support garment of some kind? It just pains me to see you so floppy. I know you’re worn out from all the librul dOOds playing off the teabagging thing by invoking you as a misogynist metaphor for what they’d like to do to right-wing women…. but that’s NO EXCUSE to let yourself go, Sucked Balls! Come ON, lift yourself up, wipe yourself off, and get RIGHT BACK IN THE GAME!

“The Phantom Schlong reminds me of the Good Fairy.” … almost made me snort water through my nose. Which would only be good if it had salt in it, which it does not. So, shame on you, Richelle!! :)

But now The Phantom Schlong reminds me of The Phantom Menace… or perhaps the Phantom Tollbooth. Hmmm. I don’t think The Phantom Schlong is an appropriate name for a book for children, though. Maybe teenagers…

This might be the funniest conversation I’ve ever had in my life. Richelle, I don’t know the book, but I’m going to get it, stat!

Hey y’all, I really needed this today. I just had a followup conversation with the search committee from the campus visit I had last week, and it seemed like every stinking question started with, “The faculty expressed some concern that you don’t seem to have [trait that we want.] Can you respond to that?” Um, yeah: Don’t hire me then. Seriously, if the job applicant pool this year didn’t present you with who you want, I’m really sorry, but please don’t ask me eighty times and in eighty different ways why I’m not that person. I’m smart, agreeable, came with good letters of recommendation, have done good research, and got good teaching evaluations. And I like your school fine. Beyond that, it’s how well I fit with what you want. It sounds like maybe I don’t. If that’s the case, then maybe you shouldn’t give me the job. See? I said I was smart.

Sorry, that was a downer. PHANTOM SCHLONG! *snicker* Heh, that gets me every time. And now I’m thinking of a phantom schlong booth, which is even funnier.

Heh, A Sarah, what do you want to bet that they’re scared to have this search fail and just not* hire you, because their administration might not approve a new search for next year? (But hey, if that’s the case and they do make you an offer, you probably have serious bargaining power – ask for more salary, more start-up, better moving expense coverage, the whole nine yards.)

liz, you’re in the ballpark. I don’t want to say exactly because I plan to follow up and so I feel some need to be cryptic. I was actually the one who mentioned I have kids, and while that doesn’t excuse the question, I better understand now why female job applicants are advised not to mention that.

Ellie, I actually think that would have increased my esteem in their eyes, lol.

I did have one person at a (different) campus visit ask me what size I wore. But it was the dean’s wife, and she was asking because my luggage had been lost and she thought possibly she could loan me something to sleep in. So I think she gets a pass.

Oh, that’s a tough one. Sucked Balls makes me think of librul dood teabagging jokes. Heart Disease, though, called Sucked Balls unattractive and that strikes me as rude. However, as Richelle pointed out, it could be an inside joke of some kind. I think I’d have to go with Heart Disease.

I would rather die of heart disease than live even a single day as the kind of person who can’t leave the house without killing all of my compassion for others, and half of my own humanity before leaving the house.

And imagine, Heart disease (guess we capitalize only the H so we won’t confuse hir with bell hooks, or maybe it’s kind of like a bacteria, where you capitalize the genus and not the species) went out of hir way to write to you and only you. I haven’t gotten any personal letters from H. disease, and I’m older and fatter than you.

(Also: bargain hard, seriously. I think that they asked you those questions and then made you an offer means that you’re in a really good spot for that. Salary can’t always be negotiated, but lots of other things can be!)

Hey, thanks everyone! (Oh, and for those of you who are wondering, “Um, didn’t she get a job offer several months ago?”… I did, but after talking it over with my family the location just wouldn’t have worked. Or at least, it wouldn’t have worked as well as the two other searches where I was a candidate, so we decided to pass on the first offer in the hopes that one of the other two would play out. A risky move, and one I wouldn’t have made if we didn’t have a Plan B should academia not work out. But now I’m glad we waited.)

I’m just so surprised. I really didn’t think today’s conversation went well at all. Weird.

I know I was only supposed to stick around until about a month after your surgery, but damned if I didn’t want another visit recently and you are such a gracious host to have me. I know you can’t lay in a bed anymore, and it causes you great pain to even pick up your son from the bus stop, but I love how close we’ve become. Oh, also, your anxiety, bi-polar and insomnia want me to say hi as well.

Y’all, a troll left this profound question in the mod queue: But what if two obeses without knowing book two seats next to each others? Technically it is impossible for both of them to sit. I am pretty sure it’s a zen koan.

Maybe those two obeses will be really relieved to be sitting next to another fat person who understands the pain and suffering the ensuing flight will cause. Thus they will be more compassionate to each other.

Richelle, I agree; the first stanza hints at an image (“two / obeses” next to each other) that the poem’s end tells us is physically impossible. By raising the specter of an impossible image in the reader’s mind, the poem demands that we ponder the nature of reality: how can we imagine the impossible, the unreal? Is this truly just a matter of “technicality” that unfairly squashes our imaginative flights, or has the human mind played a cruel trick on itself, longing to behold sights which the eye can never truly see?

yay, A Sarah! Congratulations! There wasn’t a whole lot of wiggle room for salary negotiations when I took my job last year, so I asked for a whole lot of stuff, which I got. So….yeah. That could be helpful.

My husband and I are two obeses, and we have flown while sitting next to each other. Who should I call, since we obviously performed a feat worthy of national, if not international, recognition?

I’m so happy to see you’ve enjoyed the painful, blister like bumps on your hands I gave you last fall and have given you a relapse of a few weeks ago. And I knew you would just adore not being able to keep down any sort of food you’d actually want to eat besides bread for a whole month and a half. And that 5 day long headache? Knew you’d love that too. It’s like our friendship was just meant to be, we just know each other. Wasn’t it hilarious when the idiot doctor just sorta scratched his head and said, “Well, you’re not sexually active, so you can’t be pregnant” thus making your getting tested a bigger ordeal and something you had to wait longer for (not to mention making you roll your eyes and think “this dude gets paid HOW much per year”)? Gosh it was great that by the time you finally got tests done I was pretty much out of your system. But I left my mark in a low white blood cell count. Anyway, I’m so glad we enjoyed our time together, and don’t fret, if I really am Hand, Foot and Mouth like your mother thinks I was, I might be back if you can get your body run down enough again. Then we can enjoy another two months of you barely even being able to walk up the stairs without feeling weak!

Sweet Machine, absolutely. What I wonder, though, is if there are actually two voices in this poem. The first stanza effectively evokes the questioning of a child who has not yet learned the limitations that an adult mind automatically imposes on its construction of reality. The slightly imperfect grammar reinforces this idea–the child has not yet refined it application of socially accepted rules to its speech.

The first line, (“but”) suggests the continuation of a discussion in which the child is testing several scenarios on its adult interlocutor to discover whether they are feasible according to the adult’s wider experience of the world. In this case, the rejection of the scenario is particularly forceful when the authority contained within the word “technically” is evoked. The adult answers in simple, blunt, unadorned language that denies the possibility not only of the scenario, but also of further explanation. This is the tragedy of the poem, because the lesson taught by the adult, if unconsciously, is the absolute unquestionability of social constructions of reality.

Y’all are being too funny. My 9-year-old is demanding to know why I can’t stop laughing, and it is remarkably difficult to explain (“because I’m reading something funny” does not end the conversation with a 3rd grader).

I’ve only just started reading, but 1) I love this blog, 2) I love your humor, and 3) I HATE FLYING EVEN MORE NOW.

I’m just glad that I’m not even thinking about how dumb the troll is anymore. I don’t know why letters from illnesses are so hilariously funny, but I am literally having to pretend that I am coughing to disguise my laughter so that this weirdo in the coffee shop who keeps looking at me won’t complain to the staff. It’s almost as funny as writing from the perspective of historical figures, like, “Hi, I’m Anton Chekhov, and I’m here to tell you about…”

I knew it! I knew it!!!!
I knew just from your after-comments following your presentation on campus.

I would say I told you so, but it’s probably better to refrain from being smug and say “What volcanista and kristin have said.”

You don’t know what they have on offer in the Tower, and they’re probably going to blame whatever salary they offer you on the economy, so in terms of flextime, benefits, gym membership to de-stress from refraining from trying to put snotty students to death, co-publishing rights for your articles — ask for everything you think you want.

Richelle, your multivocal reading is inspired and eloquent. What I now wonder is if both our readings (philosophical and dialogical) are sponsored by the poem’s title, which is a gerund. Who/what is/are “the complaining? Does the poem itself constitute the complaining (i.e., the group that complains, or the utterance of the complaint)? In your reading, who is “complaining” — child or adult? In my prior philosophical reading, I would argue that the “complaint” rests in the parenthetical adverb “technically,” a word that, as you say, summons the “authority” of techne in order to answer the question negatively.

Sweet Machine, that’s an excellent question. Why, indeed, has the poet chosen the technique of using the gerund “complaining” as a noun, rather than simply calling the piece “The Complaint?” And, as you ask, does it refer to the action itself, or does it describe the performer(s)? This may be a bit unorthodox, but I find a satisfying answer in the roots of the word itself. “Complain” comes from the Latin com + plangere, or to lament together. Lamentation is a highly ritualized activity in many societies, and this is no different. The adult and child are engaging in an activity whose roots lie deep in the customs, habits, and prejudices of human society–an instruction in the limits of knowledge and the possible. The gerund, then, indicates the seemingly eternal quality of this exchange. Lamentation itself is a way of declaring the inevitability of something unpleasant yet inescapable, and coping with it at the same time. It does not necessarily follow that the adult endorses the limits placed by the construction of reality–only that he or she acknowledges their existence, and the fact that the child must become acquainted with them to ensure social survival.

[Ahem. Are we still joking? Were we ever joking? I am taking this way serious. So…POOPIES.]

Hey, I just wanted to let you know I’m really, really sorry I never showed up. I know you were expecting me. After all, I was so close to your mom (sorry to hear of her death btw) and her sisters and your cousins. Oh, and your maternal grandmother! (She gave me one of her feet you know. And a hand. I’m so loved.)

I knew you had your doubts about us being together – all those years of dieting and trying to lose weight – but your weight always yo-yo’d right back up! And more! I really, really thought we were fated for each other. So what if your dad’s family doesn’t have anyone with diabetes? Obviously you have your mother’s genes – right?

But … well … damn, girl, it’s been decades, and it just hasn’t worked out. Maybe someday, when we’ve had more time, and your pancreas is failing….

The gerund, then, indicates the seemingly eternal quality of this exchange. Lamentation itself is a way of declaring the inevitability of something unpleasant yet inescapable, and coping with it at the same time.

Indeed, we can read the syntax of the poem as enacting this eternal exchange — the seemingly incomplete syntax of the opening line (“but”) invites us to read the poem as an endless loop, reading from beginning to end and then cycling back to the beginning, where the child’s question endlessly reasserts itself.

Ostara, Hand, Foot and Mouth was what I thought as soon as I read your first line. Had it when I was 19 and working in a day care center, though I had no idea it was a really common childhood illness before then. SUCKED. Fortunately, my GP at the time was my old pediatrician (shut up), so she had no trouble diagnosing it.

Really though Kate. I watched this morning on CNN. You did a wonderful job. No one should have to pay for two seats because they’re built different than the make believe person the airplane seats were designed for. And you picked a cute outfit, (what we could see of it), and you looked beautiful. The person who sent the mean comment needs to seek psychological help. (seeking psychological help is not bad, but being mean and rude to others is bad) Thank you Kate. (not Katie right?)

I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together over the past 21 years. All of those days spent with you looking at your puffy, sweaty hands and feet, and wondering why the hell you’re so tired all the time have truly made my time here on Earth more worthwhile. Don’t worry, you’ll never find a medical professional who will be willing to spend the time and effort it would take to get rid of a friend like me!

Hiya WellRoundedType2,
Before you took my name, and were just sweet young WellRounded, oh, how fun you were. Remember the worst yeast infection ever? That was fun! I’m sorry I made you cry when you found out we would be together forever, really, but living with you has been wonderful for me. Our 15 year anniversary is coming up, and I’m sorry to say, I don’t have any gifts for you, not yet at least, like neropathy or nephropathy or retinopathy or any other -opathies. My favorite memories of our time together have been during pregnancy — whooooah, there’s no rush like a hypoglycemic one, am I right? Am I right? And that metformin, that’s a kick in the pants, hey?
I am also really, really sorry about that misunderstanding that having me around is something you brought on yourself. You were bethroted to me in the womb, kiddo. It was an arranged marriage between me and your chromosomes. There was nothing you could do. But you’ve made the best of it. We’re practically besties now, am I right? I know, I annoy you sometimes. But where would you be without me? You probably wouldn’t have gone on to get your Masters. We showed them, my rounded one, didn’t we.
Looking forward to many happy years together,
Diabetes, Type 2

Hey, I just wanted to let you know I’m really, really sorry I never showed up. …

-Diabetes

I dunno, Living 400lbs, you know Heart Disease is just around the corner. Have you checked for Diabetes under the bed or perhaps lurking in a dark alley? I just found I’d stored Hypertension in the box with my Christmas decorations. Oh, I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached! I knew I had Hypertension around somewhere, because I’m so fat.

I know we only see each other once in a “blue moon” (get it? well, not often. amiright?) but I love the time I get to lie with you in bed. I realize that every time I come around you get a fever, but I prefer to think of it as you being hot for me! Red, Red Whine is my favorite song as a result of the three weeks we last spent together. And tell anemia to back off! You’d think I was killing you or something.

Wow, I just came over like an hour ago and already it feels like we’ve known each other so much longer. Do you know, I think I might make this thread even funnier than it is otherwise? Don’t let me lower your inhibitions, though, or else you’ll tell everyone at Shapely Prose how much you luuurve them and want to maaaarry them. Or how you were just inspired to google “throatwobbler mangrove” and then had to watch hilarious YouTube Monty Python clips whilst your spouse watched a very virtuous and important PBS show.

For tomorrow, no need to make me any breakfast. I’ll just slip out quietly. I may leave you with a headache, though; that okay? Good.

Even though we’ve only been official for three years, I know you’ve appreciated the little gifts I’ve given you over the years, like the optic neuritis (wasn’t it fun to see out of only one eye? Woo, lack of depth perception!!) and the vertigo (Your own personal roller coaster inside your head! Spinning and whirling and barfing!). And now that we’re a real couple, with the MRIs to prove it, I hope you’ll continue to enjoy the many years of numbness, tingling, pain, and fatigue that I have an endless supply of. All with your name on them, because I love you *that* much!

Right. If you absolutely must, it’s Katy with a Y, and you must spell it that way in your head even when you say it out loud. (I KNOW Kiran Chetry was spelling it with an IE in her head.) But in general, and definitely in more-or-less professional situations? It’s Kate.

Dear car,
I know, we broke up a long time ago after you started seeing that guy. Some kind of “doctor”, right? You were going out to see him once a week, and stopped spending so much time with me, and then you wouldn’t return my calls. I was hurt, but I understood. I mean, who would want to spend any time with me, right? Not like I have much to offer. Personally, I think he was the one who told you I was no good for you, but I can’t prove it because you wouldn’t take me along on your visits. Anyway, I’m glad we’ve started talking again. You don’t seem to want to talk to me, but I’ve made a little headway – I’ve noticed you’re especially open to spending time with me late at night, when you’re not distracted by everything else in life. I hope you come back to me! Even though I don’t deserve you. But please come back! I’m nothing without you!

Heart Disease,
I recommend you read Kate Harding’s essay in “Yes Means Yes!” — and then get a clue.
I am not into you. I never have been. Just because I’m fat doesn’t mean I would be lucky to suck your balls.
I am filling out the paperwork for a restraining order right now. Stop texting me. I do not want you. Don’t think I must have you just because I’m fat.
Really, fuck yourself,
WellRoundedType2

Fillyjonk, I hope you don’t mind me speaking for you, but yes, that was a hitchhiker’s quote from the famous Vogon poetry scene. And that made me very, very happy. heehee
—————————-
Dear KC Jones,
I think you are so wonderful for allowing me to inhabit your brain and body. I’m going to take a little vacation, but I’ll be back as soon as you get stressed again.
Your best buddy, ED, your eating disorder

P.S. – Don’t worry, schioaffective disorder is gonna stay, so you won’t be lonely-and I won’t be long!

I love this thread so much. Richelle and A Sarah are a bit over my head, though.

car, you beautifully captured clinically low self-esteem and martyr complex’s voice. I would know that tone anywhere. I think a whole bunch of us need to dump him and go out and dance to “I Will Survive!”

I am sorry to keep posting, I’m procrastinating.
But I wanted to mention that the reasons obesons haven’t been discovered yet is that they aren’t visible to most people. It’s like they aren’t even there, even though they are quite large. People look right through them, as though they don’t exist. They are the Rodney Dangerfields of superparticles.
Obeseons are responsible for all kinds of wonderful things. They interact with raindrops to refract light into rainbows, for example. They help lost things to be found by magnifying them when you look near them. If they were visible, people would see that they were incredibly cute. They are everywhere, but they are still great.

Richelle, meese is two mooses, not two mouses! There’s a song about it and everything. “One hippopotami cannot get on a bus because one hippopotami is two hippopotamus.”

I wish my migraines would send me something good. They would probably be spiteful and send me donuts though, now that I’ve determined that yeast is a trigger. And chocolate, since caffeine also is. Not sure about babies. Are baby-flavored donuts the yeast kind or the cake kind? I can still have the cake kind.

I know that you love Italian food. Lasagne, eggplant parmigiana, caprese salad, pizza. I also know that you love potatoes. That potato casserole you mom makes, with the cheese and onions? No wonder that’s one of your favorite foods! It’s delicious! And grilled eggplant – yeah, that’s good, too.

So I hate to tell you, I’m coming to stay. No more tomatoes, or potatoes, or eggplant, or peppers or any kind. Eat enough of any of these, and you’ll be violently ill all night long, and probably sick enough to miss work the next day.

But to make up for it, here, have some french fries. Oh, wait, you can’t eat those. Okay, have a taco instead. Oops, it has salsa in it. How about some sweet and sour chicken? Oh, my bad, it has tomatoes and bell peppers in it. Well, shoot. Instead I’ll give you a lifetime of label reading and panicking when you go to a restaurant and realize that there’s almost nothing on the menu you can eat.

*rofls* Of course epilepsy writes to us in lolcat, Richelle, zie must be in a constant aura! I know I sound like I’m drunk or stoned immediately pre- or post-ictal.

Dear Electrogirl,

Why did you dump me for Zonegran? We had such fantastic times together! Come on, you know you want to experience the euphoric high of being with me just one more time. Sure, I’ll crash you head-first into the black pit of depression afterwards, and you’ll probably do spectacularly stupid and embarrassing things while we’re out painting the town red. TANSTAAFL, babe. The ride is so worth the ticket, right? You’re so boring when you’re with that little green-and-white pill, always talking to that ‘therapist’ bitch! I’ve heard you’re dumping Zonegran for someone new this summer, though, and it’s about damn time. I just hope that your new squeeze doesn’t keep you away from me!

I’ve been around for a while, but you really only started to notice me this summer. What can I say? I had to make my feelings known before you went off to college. Those carefree summer days spent making you nauseous and causing you to repeatedly vomit were some of the best of my life.

You and I, we’re meant for each other, and I really don’t like you to meet anyone new. They’re all judging you anyway. Remember, I know you better than anyone, and I know what everyone sees.

Oooh, wiscck *sympathies*. I dated someone in college who was extremely allergic to nightshades, so I had a crash course in avoiding nightshades. *hands over a white pizza with no tomato slices on it* *hands over mushroom ravioli in white wine sauce* *hands over garlic bread with absolutely no potato flour or paprika garnish*

I know you think you’d rather not have me around, but think of all the fun I bring into your life. What would you be doing with your hands at 3 AM reading SP if you didn’t have those tweezers out? And, hey, I broke your ovaries, which totally works out since you don’t really want kids anyway! I even got you eating breakfast every day so the Metformin doesn’t give you the butt rocket quite so much. Face it, babe, you love me.

Love, PCOS.

Oh, PS, you missed a chin hair, it’s totally going to be all sharp and poke you right on top of your collar bone in the middle of the night. And you have one on your chest, too.

Dear Shapelings,

I <3 U. I will stick around like something really fucking sticky, because you all make me laugh so much, and think so hard. You rock!

I know I was just at your house last month, but I had so much fun, I thought I’d come back already. Besides, to be honest, I think you need me. Remember how much grumbling you did about being up all night, having to wash every sheet and blanket in the house every day, and cleaning up vomit puddles? Clearly some personal growth is in order, and there’s nothing like having a child get vomit and diarrhea on your bedsheets to promote that. Let’s see if you can handle it a little better this time. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this one day.

I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to take up residence in your digestive tract, but if I do, I’ll be sure to wait until right before you need to go teach, like I did last time. You could use more excitement in your life.

You don’t know who or what I am. Or when I’m coming to get you. I’ll just be there, lurking in the back of your mind all the time while you wait for me to pop up. Oh yes, you’ve done a lot of finger pointing – Diabetes, Celiac, MS and all their friends are all very offended that you tried to blame them for what I’m up to.

Maybe one day I’ll show myself to you. Until then though, I’ll just keep popping up, give you a little kiss on the brain, and then leave again. My love is stronger than any attempt you can make to evade me.

It’s been four years since we broke up – won’t you consider taking me back? I loved that we would spend two weeks of every month together. I loved that for half of every month you couldn’t think of anything but me. I loved being such a big part of your life.

I was so good to you! Remember when you had that ovarian cyst and it was pressing on your sciatic nerve so badly that you couldn’t stand up for more than 15 minutes at a time, so you got to stay in bed all day for weeks (although you kept whining that your boss was a complete nightmare and she was trying to get rid of you because of me)? Remember the great drugs I got you (codeine, baby – the good stuff too, not the weak 8mg stuff they sell over the counter – and the morphine that one time in hospital)? How could you give all that up?

And then, when you broke up with me after that surgery, I silently stalked you, just because I wanted to be close to you – but you saw me on that follow-up scan and dumped me again!

And then you started seeing that Zoladex guy. Let me tell you, he wasn’t good for you – he gave you hot flashes (yeah, I know you joked that you were going through menopause at the same time as your mother), he made you feel nauseous. I can’t believe you’d rather go out with that jerk than me, just because you said he was short-term fling and you’d be better in the long-run!

I know you think of me every time you get ill because you worry that I might be fooling with your immune system again. I know you wonder if I’m back again whenever you feel a twinge from your surgery scars.

Well, at least I’ve left an impression on you. Just remember that because of me you may never have children. Bitch.

You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you? You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t even look at me when I pass you on the sidewalk. You might say it’s you, not me, but I know the truth. It’s that bastard Zoloft, isn’t it? He’s taken you away from me, and all our old friends: insomnia, crying jags, and crippling self-doubt.

Well, you think Zoloft’s your friend, but he’s really not. Look at the extra 20 pounds he gave you! It use to be that that sort of thing would send you running into my arms. But now it’s like you don’t even care. You ordered a whole new wardrobe of clothes that fit instead of inviting self-loathing over to help you cram into the smaller skirts.

Fine. Plan your trip to Greece and your parties and your new garden. You’ve always come back before, so I’ll just be over here, waiting.

I’m late also, but this thread is making me roffle, and I thought I’d join in.

Duuuude, Inexdeo.

Like, I know you want your food digested and everything, but really? I mean, I’ll do it, like, some time? I mean, don’t get all mad or whatever, it’ll totally happen. Just, maybe, once I’m done with what I’m doing?

I just have a lot going on right now, like storing all that acid, and like hanging out? I mean, yeh, I know you like your stomach lining and whatever, but do you really need it? I mean, why are you being so selfish?

The personified disease is hysterical, as is the cheerfully passive aggressive tone. Also, I don’t have balls, but isn’t the sucking of them something to generally be desired, even pursued? I don’t wish to be overly crude, but if I ran across a TV appearance that would simulate a consensual disease-free oral encounter with my nether regions, I might purchase a TV.

And because I can’t resist:

Dear Anita,

It’s that time of the year again! The wind is shifting, the barometric pressure is in flux, and like Mary Poppins, it’s time for me to float back into your life. (If only I brought you neat boots and spiffy lamps!)

I’m not sure whether I’ll be staying with you most days, or just dropping in during the afternoons to chat and pound nails into that soft spot behind your left eye, but I’m sure we can work something out. Also, would you do me a favor and let your neighbors know that silence isn’t always golden? It makes things so much more *fun* when they’re clog dancing or herding elephants or whatever they do upstairs!

Ciao,
Migraine

PS – The feverfew tea was *great*. I do love the little concoctions you come up with when I’m in town.

Also, I don’t have balls, but isn’t the sucking of them something to generally be desired, even pursued?

Oh, by the owners of the balls, sure — wanting it is just natural behavior. But any woman who actually does it is a dirty, dirty whore who should no longer consider herself fully human. Did you not get the memo from the patriarchy?

I think I must have paperclipped that one to the back of the “it’s okay to take up space on the bus if you’re a dude by spreading your legs even if the bus is really really full because you’re a dude! With balls!” memo.

I suck at organization, but to be fair, patriarchy is totally overboard with their memos these days.

I neglected to do this, what with feeling sorry for Heart Disease earlier, but I decided I really can’t hold back another moment longer.

Dearest shoutz,

You know how long you waited to find me. When your Aunt Flo never came to visit… when you spent hundreds of dollars on laser treatments to get rid of those charming lip and chin hairs… they were all just the beginning! Why, think of all the blood tests and arguments with your doctors. If you hadn’t done all that, how would you have known how special it would be when you first saw me on that ultrasound! A perfect string of pearls… a thing of beauty, no? Nevermind the nearly endless medical visits or the numerous pills, the ultrasounds, the injections, the mood swings, the fact that 23 different people looked at your netheral region… we both know it wasn’t a baby you wanted, but me. It’s okay to admit it now. After all, we’ll be together forever. (Well, at least until menopause, but let’s not think about that just now, shall we?)

I know I have only visited rarely, and that I haven’t stayed for a while since you were a kid, but don’t worry, I’m planning on coming back sooner or later. I found that crazy diet you did for all those years kind of repulsive, so that kept me away for a while, but I’m glad you’ve returned to more manageable eating habits. I feel more welcome to stop by again now. I’ll be sure to keep sending little messages so you don’t think I’ve died or anything (I mean, do you really only want to shit once a day? Boring!), and sooner or later I’ll be sure to drop in for a while. It will be like old times, with those awesome ulcers and cramps and excessive bleeding. Oh, and the mucus, that’s the best. Party time!

You’ve been doing so well in your misguided effort to stay away from me, with taking all those pills and visiting that therapist you like so much. Now that you’ve lost your insurance and can’t see your therapist as often, I’m hoping to come back for an extended visit. Think about it- nights spent worrying about all the bad things that could happen, the obsessive checking and re-checking that you’ve locked the door and turned off the stove– you’ve missed me and you can’t deny it. It’s got to be lonely and boring inside your head without the constant obsession and fear. Now, you never have to be alone again. It’ll be like a slumber party, and I can’t wait. I’ll see you soon!

Wasn’t this weekend fun? I know it wasn’t a great time for a visit when you were travelling for work in the middle of one of the busiest days of your life, but I’m so glad you were able to take a couple of hours off to make sure you were able to farewell me properly with that anti-histamine injection.

It’s such a pity I couldn’t hang around longer because then we could’ve visited the hospital together, and, who knows, I could have just taken your breath away.

I know you’d like me to have a reason to come and visit you and you know there are a couple of things that will definitely get me to come see you, which you seem to be avoiding lately (too busy for me?). But I do love surprising you so don’t you and that silly doctor of yours go looking too hard for the reason I came to visit this time around.

I love that I was able to leave your lips swollen and cracked – you’re going to have to explain what you were up to while you were away, you naughty girl!

You know, things between us just haven’t been the same since you found out what I am. All those years where your lack of willpower and discipline were blamed for your size and shape…oh, I laughed so hard because no one knew it was ME! Oh, and the afternoon crashes and unexplained hunger…such good times. Then you went and ruined it all by discovering me.

I can take some pleasure in knowing you’ll never have the same kind of relationship with carbohydrates that many others have. And it’s very comforting to know that I’ll be with you for the rest of your life since I’m a part of your very genetic makeup.

Even though I personally can’t make your life quite the hell it was, my friend the Perimenopause Fairy is here to take over. I don’t think you’ll be able to ruin her fun as much as you’ve ruined mine.